


John Hughes is Full of Shit

by drunkfacedtaco



Category: Glee
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-27
Updated: 2013-03-27
Packaged: 2017-12-06 17:40:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,756
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/738339
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/drunkfacedtaco/pseuds/drunkfacedtaco
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for Quinntana Week 2013, Day One: Popular Girl/Nerd</p><p>Quinn might know and accept that she's at the absolute bottom rung of McKinley High's social ladder, but that doesn't mean she's gonna stop thinking about the girl at the very top.</p>
            </blockquote>





	John Hughes is Full of Shit

_Friday, April 19_

“Are you sure about your answer on 17?”

“Yeah, I’m sure.”  Quinn looks over at Rachel’s answer sheet for their AP Chem lab.  “You forgot about the carbon dioxide released in the chemical reaction.”

“Right, darn.”  She corrects her paper and goes back to cross checking their assignments.  Normally, Quinn would be right there with her, making sure they haven’t missed anything.  They’re the only two girls partnered together in the class and they’ve been setting the curve all year; she certainly doesn’t want to stop now.  Even if she’s not going to work on chemistry, she knows she should be working on something.  With finals as close as they are, most of their table has been spending their lunch periods focused on classwork, only occasionally stopping to eat.  Unfortunately, Quinn has other things on her mind today. 

From their spot in the courtyard, where Quinn and her friends sit every day, she can see McKinley’s entire social hierarchy laid out before her, and Quinn’s never been more painfully aware of her position at the very bottom.  She can only just make out the faces of the jocks and cheerleaders at the top of the stairs, but she can tell that the one she’s looking for, the one who should be sitting at the head of the table, isn’t there.

“Seriously, Quinn?  You need to let it go.”  Quinn must be a lot more obvious than she thought if Tina’s taking time away from whatever she’s working on with Artie just to tell her how lame she’s being. 

“I’m letting it go.”

“No, you’re not; you’re fixating and it’s sad.”  Kurt’s nodding next to her, and Quinn doesn’t even remember when he sat down, so it’s kind of hard to argue that point.

“Guys, leave Quinn alone.  Come on, Quinn, you want to go over our Calc assignment?”

“Sure, thanks, Rach.”

Quinn pulls up her overstuffed bag to search for her Calculus notebook, stopping to push up the glasses that keep slipping down her nose.  She didn’t even bother pretending to try and wear her contacts this morning.  Her mother, seeing Quinn’s bloodshot eyes, didn’t even protest.  If there’s one sure sign that she’d crossed the line to “completely pathetic,” that was it, because she’s pretty sure her mother doesn’t hate anything in the world as much as she hates Quinn’s thick-rimmed glasses. 

Tina moves over to sit on Quinn’s other side as the three of them go over their answers.  It doesn’t escape Quinn’s notice that Tina is now blocking her sightline to the rest of the courtyard, and she’s never been more grateful.  This really is exactly the kind of distraction Quinn needs right now:  something simple that her mind can focus on.  Well, something _relatively_ simple.  Something that makes sense.

Something that’s not Santana

* * *

_Friday, April 12_

Quinn and Rachel get to the party well after it’s started.  From their admittedly limited experience, they’ve realized that, if they show up when almost everyone’s already halfway to wasted, fewer people feel the need to ask what the hell they’re doing there.  It’s still a question they ask themselves, but at least they don’t expect to get rational answers. 

Rachel immediately spots Finn standing near the makeshift dance floor and tries her best to make a casual beeline to him.  As if he’s not the only reason she came in the first place.  Quinn would be more worried about her friend, but he does seem genuinely happy to see her.  He’s single and he actually acknowledges her in public, so Quinn’s certainly in no position to be criticizing.  Quinn makes her way through the crowd until she finds a mostly quiet side room where a bunch of jocks and cheerleaders are playing Spin the Bottle.  There, in one corner of that room, nursing a beer and watching her friends with thinly veiled judgment, Quinn finds the reason _she_ came in the first place:  Santana Lopez.

Santana’s keeping a running commentary on who should be using more tongue and who should just get a room.  For someone who never plays the game herself, she certainly has strong feelings about how it should be played.  Quinn once asked her about that, the fact that she never plays Spin the Bottle with the rest of them.  Santana told her that, when she wants to kiss someone, she just does it.  She told her that and then she kissed her, just to prove her point.  Santana was drunk at the time, but she was completely sober and utterly terrified when she showed up at Quinn’s house the next day and kissed her again.  That’s how it all started, and it hasn’t stopped since.

Quinn knows better than to actually approach Santana, not in front of all these people:  Santana’s friends who barely know Quinn exists, Santana’s boyfriend who Quinn wishes didn’t.  Instead, she waits just outside the doorway, until Santana sees her.  It doesn’t take long; Santana’s pretty observant.  Quinn tries not to think that the other girl might have just been waiting for her.  When they first make eye contact, Santana always smiles.  It’s just for a second, but it’s a real, genuine smile, the kind Santana almost never uses, and it’s more than enough to stop Quinn from second guessing her decision to come to yet another party she wasn’t actually invited to.  Santana waves at her subtly, three fingers with her right hand.  Quinn nods in acknowledgement before wandering back through the rest of the party. 

She goes upstairs and opens the third door on the right side of the hallway to find an empty bedroom.  Quinn has no idea how Santana always manages to reserve rooms at these things and, given how much the cloak and dagger stuff seems to turn the other girl on, she’s never really had a chance to ask.  Quinn takes a moment to look around the room.  It’s very…floral.  The portraits of cats on the walls certainly aren’t helping matters.  Whatever Santana’s method of procuring rooms may be, it definitely doesn’t involve seeing them first.

“Well, well, well.  What have we here?”  Quinn smiles as she feels Santana’s arms wrap around her, her chest brushing up against Quinn’s back.

“If I had to guess, I’d say, ‘some dead cat lady’s room.’”  Santana chuckles and Quinn feels the hot breath on her neck.

“Wow, you make it sound super sexy.”

Quinn turns around so that she’s facing Santana and immediately pulls her in for a kiss.  “I don’t need the room to be sexy.  That’s what I’ve got you for.” 

Santana walks Quinn back towards the bed while her lips make their way down Quinn’s neck and to her collarbone.  She’s about to bring them back to Quinn’s mouth when she suddenly freezes.

“Oh, shit.”

“What is it?”

“I think that dead cat lady is watching us.”

Quinn follows Santana’s sight-line to a picture on the nightstand.  It’s a portrait of an older woman and, yeah, her expression does seem rather decidedly judgmental.  Quinn looks at Santana, who is still mostly straddling her on this pink floral bed, and tries to think of a way to salvage the moment.  Santana’s already started giggling though.  Quinn joins her soon after and they don’t stop until about five minutes later when they’re both gasping for air.

“Well, this wasn’t exactly how I’d planned to leave you breathless.”  Quinn snorts at that, which sets Santana off again.

“Tana, I don’t think I can have sex in this room.”

“Yeah, me neither.  It looks like someone ate Molly Ringwald’s entire wardrobe from _16 Candles_ and then vomited it all over the walls and floor.”  Quinn rests her head on Santana’s shoulder, trying her best not to seem disappointed.  “Hey, you want to just get out of here?”

“What?”

“I mean, my house is in walking distance.  We can sneak out, go back to my place, do whatever we want in a room that doesn’t look like it was designed by a blind schizophrenic.  What do you say?”

Quinn tries not to get her hopes up.  It’s a long walk from where they’re sitting to the front door of the house, and it’ll give Santana plenty of time to change her mind.  “It’s only ten o’clock; I thought you said you never leave a party before midnight.”

“Well, maybe I can make an exception, given the right incentive.”  Santana stands up and smiles that smile that makes Quinn’s insides melt.  She offers her hand, which Quinn takes without hesitation.  Together, they sneak back downstairs and out the front door, not letting go until they’re halfway down the block.

* * *

_Friday, April 19_

“Quinn, I think you forgot to add the C on the second integration on number 25.  You added it back in later, but you know how picky Ms. Corcoran can be."

“Thanks, Tina.”

They’re nearly finished with Calculus and it’s only halfway through the lunch period.  Quinn looks over to see if Artie wants to study for their Econ quiz, but he and Kurt are both looking warily at something going on near the top of the steps.  She catches Kurt’s eye and he gives her a sympathetic smile.  “Sorry, I forgot they were doing this today.”

Up past the popular tables, on the stage they use for pep rallies and such, Quinn sees a bunch of chairs being set up, eight on each side of the stage, with a small table in the middle.  She’s not quite positive what’s going on until she sees some kid bring out a bunch of roses and set them out on the table. 

“Shit.”

It’s a McKinley High tradition for all the Junior and Senior Prom Court candidates to have this big ceremony about a week before the actual event.  They get dressed up in formalwear and officially ask each other to the dance.  She’s heard a lot of different explanations for the reasoning behind it, but she’s pretty sure it’s just an excuse for the most popular kids to flaunt their status and make everyone watch.  They added the roses to the whole thing a few years ago, when a McKinley alumnus made it to the fifth week on The Bachelor.  It still makes Quinn cringe when she realizes that most of the school sees that as a _proud_ achievement. 

Some senior Quinn vaguely recognizes as their student council president is serving as the master of ceremonies for the whole thing and he’s introducing each candidate as they come up and take their place on the stage.  Rachel tries to ask her something about calculating inverse integrals, probably because she knows they both need the distraction, but Quinn finds it hard to hear her when this guy’s voice is blasting out of every speaker in the courtyard.  Then she sees Santana, and it’s hard to hear anything at all.

She’s dressed in a little black dress with her hair down and Quinn can’t take her eyes off her.  When her name is called, Santana flips her hair and smiles, waving at the crowd before taking her seat.  Quinn wants to be mad at her.  She wants to be furious, to hate her.  Instead, Quinn just hates herself, because she can’t seem to blame Santana at all.

* * *

_Monday, April 15_

Quinn and Santana are in the library after school when Rachel comes over to their table.

“Hi, Quinn!  Santana, I didn’t expect to see you here.”  Rachel smiles brightly at both of them, but Santana just rolls her eyes.  She’s probably worried enough about someone seeing her in the library at all, let alone with Quinn.  Adding Rachel to the equation certainly won’t help matters.

“Yeah, Santana and I are working on our presentation for English.  I thought we said we were meeting later tonight.”

“Oh, we are.  I actually came here to help Finn with some of his shelving duties.  He told me that organizing the lower shelves bothers his back, so I thought I’d offer my assistance.”

“That’s nice of you.” 

“No, that’s a red flag.”  If there’s one thing she’s learned in the past few months, it’s that Santana actually talking to Quinn’s friends in public almost always goes worse than Santana ignoring them altogether.  Quinn nudges Santana’s leg under the table, but she really should have known better than to think that would stop her.  “Trust me, this is just the start.  If you two ever hook up, he’s totally gonna make you do _all_ the climbing.”  Santana actually snorts at her own joke while Rachel looks pretty much horrified.

“Santana!”

“What?  It’s girl talk.  Right, Rachie?”  Now Rachel looks like she’s about to pass out from the mix of shock and excitement.  Quinn knows she and Santana have been going to the same schools since third grade, and she’s fairly certain this is the first time Santana’s used something close to her actual name. 

“Um, right, San…tana.”  Rachel’s always did have trouble with nicknames. 

“Since we’re totally girl-talking now, I wouldn’t get too wound up over Hudson if I were you.  You might think you’re getting ‘charming but dim troublemaker,’ but you’ll probably end up with ‘idiot who falls out of a tree and then dies.’  Fair warning."

“Like Finny from _A Separate Peace_ , right?  I loved that book last year.  It was so sad.”

“Yeah, never read it.”  Santana immediately goes back to flipping through note cards.  “I’m sorry, don’t you and your people have a chocolate factory to run or something?  Why are you still here?”  Quinn has to struggle not to laugh at how much Rachel visibly deflates.  It’s not taking Santana’s side if she just thinks it’s funny.  If she actually laughs, though, it’s another story.  Rachel looks at Quinn for some kind of support, but all Quinn can really do is shrug and gesture at the huge pile of notecards in front of them that needs to be a presentation in less than three days.  Rachel huffs and storms off to find Finn, leaving Santana chuckling to herself and Quinn feeling bad for not standing up for her a bit more.

“She’s not actually that short.”  It’s the best starting point she can think of.

“Yeah, but she is actually that orange.”

“You know, it wouldn’t kill you to be nice to people.”

“Oh, yeah?  Tell that to poor dead Finny.  Oh, wait, you can’t.”

“I thought you said you didn’t read that book.”

“I might have skimmed it.”  Quinn rolls her eyes, but smiles.

“You can try that all you want, but I know your secret now.”

“Which secret is that?”

“The one where you’re secretly a total nerd.  You’d better be careful.  If I start telling people how you actually do schoolwork, it could totally ruin your Prom Queen campaign.”  Santana rolls her eyes, but it’s somewhat undercut by the noticeable blush in her cheeks.

“So, you _did_ hear about that.”

“It was in the morning announcements, Santana.  Some people actually listen to those, you know.”

“Yeah, I’ve heard that.  I, um, I meant to talk to you about that, actually.” 

“It’s okay.  I know you’re going with Puckerman.  He’s your boyfriend; I get it.”  She kind of spits out the word “boyfriend,” but she immediately regrets it when she sees Santana looking like a kicked puppy.  “I mean it.  Prom’s kind of a high school cliché, and I wasn’t really even planning on going.  Plus, it’s not like you and I are dating.”  Quinn doesn’t really know what they are doing, but she knows it’s not dating.  “It really is okay.”

“No, it’s not.”  There’s this mix of guilt and sadness that washes over Santana’s features, and Quinn wants to reassure her again, but they’d both know she was lying.  She settles for changing the subject.

“You know, if you want to make it up to me, you could try being just a little bit nicer to my friends.  I mean, Rachel’s nervous enough about this whole thing with Finn, she doesn’t need you teasing her about it.”

“Okay, that was not teasing.  I gave her some solid advice back there.  Finn’s only even talking to her because he needs his ego stroked.  She’s probably the only girl at the school who knows enough about football to be impressed that he’s the quarterback, but not enough to know that he totally sucks.”  Quinn glares at her.  “Fine, and because she’s a delightful person to be around.  Happy?”

“I mean to their faces.  It’d be kind of nice if my friends could actually see what I like about you instead of having to take it all on faith.”

“You want me to flash your friends?”  Santana’s gives her this exaggerated, faux scandalized look, so Quinn shoves her lightly on the arm.  “Fine, if it means that much to you, I will try to be nice to them.  Well, nic _er_.”

“Really?”

“Really.  I mean, you’re super-hot when you’re being all assertive and shit.”  Santana looks back at her note cards again.  “Plus, you know I’d do anything for you.”  She smirks up at Quinn, trying to turn it into a joke, but Quinn’s pretty sure that, for once, Santana was being completely serious.

* * *

_Friday, April 19_

The seniors all go first, and they all have sweet little speeches to ask out their respective Prom dates.  Only a couple of them are asking people out who aren’t standing up there with them already, so, at the very least, it goes by relatively quickly.  Each time they get their expected ‘yes,’ there’s a small round of applause, as if some girl agreeing to go out with some guy she’s already dating is some kind of rare accomplishment.

Once the last of the seniors is finished, he passes the mic to the first junior Prom King candidate and Quinn feels Rachel tense up next to her.  Finn Hudson ends up asking some blonde cheerleader Quinn doesn’t recognize to be his date.  He uses some dopy line about how “epic” they’ll be and Quinn can’t help but roll her eyes when the girl says “yes.”  She hopes he really does fall out of a tree.

She squeezes Rachel’s hand.  “You okay?”

“I’m fine.”  She leans into Quinn’s shoulder and takes a few deep breaths.  “If he’s not brave enough to come down here and ask me, then I don’t need him.  He’s just a scared little boy, and I can do better than that.”  Quinn kind of hates that she’s turning into one of those people who can’t just listen to their friends’ problems without thinking of her own, but the way Rachel squeezes her hand back lets Quinn know that she’s not the only one seeing the parallel.  “You can do better, too.”

Mike Chang is up after Finn and, rather than taking the microphone, he grabs a rose and does some kind of interpretive dance to ask Santana’s friend Brittany.  Brittany joins in partway through, and it’s a little tough to tell exactly where his asking turns into her accepting, but even Quinn will admit that it’s undoubtedly cute.  A lot of this, in fact, would be undoubtedly cute if Quinn weren’t so torn between dreading Santana’s turn and just wanting to get it over with.  Well, she supposes it’s really Puck’s turn that she needs to be worried about, but still. 

In the meantime, Quinn’s having enough trouble just dealing with watching Santana up there.  She looks…happy.  She’s joking on the stage with some of her friends, not a hair out of place, as if nothing’s wrong.  Quinn almost wonders if having to watch Puckerman ask her to Prom is actually going to be that much worse.  She has her answer soon enough.  People are already whistling at him when he gets up to grab a rose.  He makes a big deal about trying to decide who to ask and everybody laughs.  It’s funny to them because, to them, Puck and Santana, the star of the football team and the head cheerleader, are the most obvious couple in the world.  A bunch of them aw like it’s the cutest thing they’ve ever seen when he finally gets on one knee in front of Santana.

So, yeah, it’s worse.  It’s a lot worse.

* * *

_Thursday, April 18_

Their English presentation goes off without a hitch, much to Quinn’s surprise.  Santana’s too, judging by the way she drags Quinn into the nearest empty classroom for an impromptu celebration.  Ms. Holliday let the two of them out early so they could change back into their regular clothes in time for lunch, but Quinn thinks she might not mind if they miss lunch entirely.

Back in January, when they first got the assignment to work together, Quinn would have sworn that their biggest obstacle to completing their semester project would be that Santana hated her and probably wouldn’t be willing to do any work, not that half their work would sessions devolve into the two of them making out.  She still remembers the how angry Santana was when they were first paired up.  She’d gone on a whole rant about how they wouldn’t be bonding or becoming friends.  Somehow, it turned into a rant about how much she hates the Breakfast Club, but Quinn still got the idea.

She can’t help but smile just thinking about how that version of Santana might react to the one gripping Quinn’s thighs as she lifts her up onto the desk.  She’s suddenly very happy that she went with the skirt her mother picked out, rather than the slacks she was originally going to wear.  Santana pushing it up around Quinn’s waist is probably not what her mother had in mind, though. 

“You look so hot in that outfit.  You should seriously start wearing button up tops every day.”

“You really think so?”  She can feel Santana nod as she works her lips down Quinn’s neck.  “I don’t know; they’re a lot harder to get on and off than my usual tee shirts.”

“I can help you with at least half of that.”  As if to prove her point, Santana undoes the top few buttons on Quinn’s shirt.  “Hey, if you just wear it like this, it’ll be even easier to get on and off.”  Quinn rolls her eyes, but that might be at least partially because of the way Santana’s sucking on her pulse point while her fingers deftly pushing Quinn’s underwear aside. 

“You like the skirt, too?”

“Oh, the skirt’s my favorite part.”  The level of inappropriateness doesn’t escape her, but, when she feels Santana’s fingers slide into her, she makes a mental note to seriously thank her mother. 

Quinn hears the bell ring a few minutes later to signal the end of class, but she’s way too far gone to care.  She comes undone soon afterwards, gripping Santana as tightly as she can.  When she finally pulls back, Santana is looking at her with this expression that seems so…content.  It makes Quinn’s stomach flutter in a way she wasn’t expecting.  Santana leans in to kiss her again.  It’s less frantic than before and, yeah, she would totally skip lunch for another forty minutes of this.  Quinn vaguely registers the sound of a creaking door, but it’s only when the other girl stiffens in her arms that she knows something’s wrong.

“Oh, don’t stop on my account.”  The voice alone makes her cringe.

“What the fuck are you doing here, Puck?”

“Up until a second ago, I was enjoying the show.  If I’d known your piece on the side was this hot under the glasses and frumpy clothes, I’d have asked to join in months ago.”  Quinn is suddenly very aware of how much of her chest is showing.  She doesn’t miss the way Santana steps in front of her, so she takes the opportunity to straighten out her outfit.

“Back off, Puckerman.”

“You’re awfully aggressive for someone who just got caught cheating on her boyfriend.” 

“Like you have _any_ room to talk?”

“Hey, I’m not the one ditching parties early and blowing off her friends to go study and shit.  Did you really think no one would notice that?  I don’t care if you have your fun, but I’m not about to have the whole school thinking my girlfriend prefers other girls.”  He cranes his neck to look at Quinn.  “Hey, weird girl whose name I don’t remember, do you get off on being the other woman?  Because that’s actually kind of hot.”

“Leave her out of this.”

“Did she not tell you she has a boyfriend?  Or, did she say she’d dump me for you?”

“She’s standing right here, and she can speak for herself.”  Santana’s trying to keep herself between Puck and Quinn, but he manages to block her out.

“Come on, what’d she tell you?  Did she say you were the only one she’s fooling around with?  Probably not, you seem too bright to have fallen for that one.”  Quinn’s trying her best to hold her ground, but she’s nearly flush against the back wall and he keeps getting closer.  “She probably didn’t need to tell you that she’s the easiest girl at McKinley.  Everybody knows that.  That’s how I know this little thing with you two is barely a bump on the road.  With me, San here’s the most popular girl in school.  Without me, she’s just another slut.”

“Shut the fuck up.”  Quinn’s not sure if it’s because her voice is several decibels louder than normal or if it’s just that he’s so surprised that she’s speaking at all, but he actually stops to listen to her.  “Look, I don’t really know what the deal is with you and Santana, and I don’t care.  I don’t care who you are or how many friends you have or that you’re both capable and willing to kick my ass.  I love her.  I love her and I’m not just going to stand here and let you talk about her like that.”

“You love me?”  Quinn feels her throat tightening.  She hadn’t meant to just blurt it out like that.  It’s true, though.  She knew it was true the moment she heard herself say it out loud, but now that it’s sinking in it feels like the whole world is slowing down and the silence is ringing in her ears and all she can do is nod.  Santana looks terrified, and Quinn just wants to reach out and hold her.  She knows that if she can just get Santana in her arms, they’ll find a way to figure it out.

“Wow, San, you sure picked up a clinger this time.”  He’s laughing.  He’s laughing and Quinn feels like she wants to die.  “Come on, we’re gonna be late for lunch.”  Santana doesn’t seem quite capable of speech, which is something Quinn never thought she’d see.  Puck moves to the door and Quinn takes her chance to reach for Santana’s hand, waiting for Santana to reach back.  She wants to see the Santana that was here with her not five minutes earlier, the one who was calm and happy.  She wants to see the look on his face when he realizes how wrong he is about them.  Instead, she sees Santana walk out the door with Puck, shrinking with the weight of his arm across her shoulders.

* * *

_Friday, April 19_

Puckerman is finishing his awful speech to Santana about how much he wants to go to Prom with her.  “You’re the hottest girl at McKinley,” he’s saying, “everybody knows that.”  Quinn can barely contain her disgust when she hears that, remembering his words the day before.  She almost can’t believe that anybody could be such an unapologetic asshole.

And Santana _left_ with him.  Santana left with him and now she’s going to go to Prom with him and dance with him and probably fuck him in her weird reserved room at the after-party and it all makes Quinn so mad she could burst.

“So, babe, will you be my Prom date.”  He hands her the mic and offers her one of those stupid roses with that same cocky smirk on his face.  As if he owns her.  As if he could ever in a million years deserve her. 

Quinn’s seriously considering making a run for it, because she’s eaten exactly three bites of her lunch, and she knows she won’t be able to hold a single one of them down once she hears Santana accept.  When she hears her say “no” instead, it’s only the gasps from the crowd that assure Quinn she didn’t just imagine it.

All over the courtyard, people are whispering to each other, trying to figure out what’s going on, as Santana stands up and maneuvers around where Puck is still kneeling on the ground.  Quinn can’t remember ever seeing Santana look as uncomfortable as she does up on that stage in this moment.  She seems to be having a quick discussion with the MC while Puck just sits there, fuming.  Finally, Santana grabs a rose from the table and walks off the stage. 

“Um, hi, everybody.  I hadn’t really planned this out, so I hope you can bear with me a bit.  If this seems surprising to any of you, trust me it’s more surprising to me.  Possibly, it’s most surprising to the person I’m about to ask to Prom, but I guess we’ll find that out together.”  That earns her a soft chuckle from the crowd, which seems to give her some extra confidence. 

At this point, Santana’s making her way down the steps, still scanning the crowd.  When her eyes settle on Quinn, she smiles and waves.  Quinn actually pinches herself to make sure she’s not just imagining this whole thing.  “So, I kind of wish I’d run this by you earlier, because it probably would have made it at least slightly less terrifying, but it’s probably more fitting like this, since I’ve honestly been kind of terrified every step of the way with you.”  A few people laugh at that and Santana smiles as if she were joking.  Quinn knows she’s not.  “If you’d asked me last week, I probably would have said that we’d gotten past the last possible terrifying thing, but then, just yesterday, you said something that completely scared the shit out of me.”  Santana’s still making her way down towards their table and Quinn can hear the whispers of the crowd getting louder with each step she takes.  “I know you were scared too, though, and I know you said it anyway because you thought I was worth it, which is maybe the scariest part.  Anyway, I figure the least I can do is nut up for a minute and just say this to _you_ , because I know _you’re_ worth it:  Quinn Fabray, will you go to Prom with me?”

Santana’s walking up to their table, now, and Quinn can imagine the looks of utter shock on the faces of nearly every single onlooker.  She has to imagine them, actually, because the only face she can see is Santana’s as she stops in front of Quinn and offers her the rose.  She gives her kind of a half shrug, like she knows the gesture is stupid and corny, but she just wants to make it anyway.  Rather than accepting it, Quinn stands up and kisses Santana harder than she thinks she ever has before.

“So, can I take that as a yes?”

* * *

_Saturday, April 27_

Prom is almost exactly the high school cliché Quinn always hoped it would be.  Santana picks her up in a limousine wearing a red dress that she looks obnoxiously hot in.  They go to dinner first, where they steal food from each other’s plates and split a dessert; then to the dance, where Santana wins Prom Queen and Mike Chang wins King, so he only dances with her for half a song before asking Quinn if she wants to cut in; then to some after party, which they leave after five minutes because Puckerman’s being an asshole; and now they’re just lounging around Santana’s room.  Both of their dresses are hanging by the door, so Quinn’s just waiting on the bed in her slip while Santana tries to get all the bobby pins out of her hair.

“You know, you could have just worn it down.  I think your hair looks sexy when it’s just natural.”

“No, you _think_ that you think my hair looks sexy when it’s just natural, because I put a great deal of effort into making it seem that way.  You just don’t appreciate all the work I do.”  Quinn can’t help but let her mind drift to exactly how “natural” she’s seen Santana’s hair.  It was definitely sexy, though probably not Prom-appropriate.  When she catches Santana’s eye in the vanity mirror, she winks at her and Quinn wonders if Santana was thinking of the same thing.  “If you’re getting bored, you can put on a movie or something.  I think there’s a copy of ‘Pretty in Pink’ in the Blu-ray player.”

“I thought you said you hated that movie.”  At this point, Quinn’s pretty much deduced that Santana hates the entire Brat Pack oeuvre.

“No, I _thought_ I hated it, but that’s just because I was watching it wrong.”

“Is that so?”

“Yep, you see, I always thought I was like that bitchy popular girl who gets stuck with James Spader in the end, which is just gross.”

“And you’re not?”

“Nope.  As it turns out, I’m like the hot rich guy who stands up to his friends and falls in love with the weird social outcast, who’s also kind of hot in her own way.”

“‘Kind of hot?’” 

Santana smirks as she gets out the last few bobby pins and makes her way over to the bed.  Quinn scoots back as Santana straddles her lap and kisses her.  “In your own way, yeah.”

“Oh, so I _am_ the weird social outcast, in this scenario.  Thanks.”

“Well, you’re the girl I’m in love with.  I don’t make the rules.”  She’s trying to sound confident, but Quinn can hear the nerves in her voice.

“You love me?”

Santana nods.  “I do.”  Quinn has that feeling again, like the world’s slowing down and the room’s spinning around her.  It’s not quite so scary this time, though.  Or, maybe it still is, but now she knows it’s worth it.  Either way, it’s a feeling she thinks she might like getting used to.

“I love you, too.”


End file.
